Garrett builds a fire, careful to keep it small and contained. Drawing attention out here would be dangerous. My three companions eat their dried meat in silence. The journey has worn them down.
Nothing stirs around us but the crack and pop of the fire and the distant wind howling through the valley below. The sound is lonely and mournful.
Hrolf produces a flask from somewhere deep in his pack and takes a long swig before offering it around. A rare grin crosses his weathered face, the first genuine smile I've seen from him.
"Darvan ale," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Had to bribe my guard with a horseshoe for his daughter's pony to get this beauty smuggled in."
Garrett takes the flask and eyes it suspiciously for a moment before drinking. He starts coughing immediately, doubling over. His eyes water and his face flushes red.
“By Kvatosh,” he rasps, thrusting the flask back to Hrolf as if it burned him. “That’s not ale. Isn’t that what you use to clean your anvil?”
Hrolf cracks a wider smile,clearly pleased with the reaction. He passes the flask to Aelfric.
The one-eyed knight takes a pull without hesitation. His face remains impassive, giving nothing away. He nods once in approval before handing it back. "Not bad."
Garrett stares at him in disbelief. "You're insane. That stuff could scour rust off armor."
The flask makes another round. I decline when it's offered.
Alcohol does nothing for me anymore and the taste reminds me of things I'd rather forget. The conversation dies after that. We sit in silence for a while, watching the fire burn lower.
I stare into the embers, seeing Rhianelle's face in the dancing light. I can't stop thinking about her.
Her heart has slowed again. I can barely hear it through my connection with Coinneach, the faintest whisper of life still clinging on.
"The fae healer can be… difficult," Hrolf says at last, breaking the silence. "Prickly. Arrogant."
A corner of his mouth shifts slightly.
"But I have seen his work. He's never failed. Not once, in all the time I've known him."
Garrett exhales sharply. "Why would a fae help someone from Aelfheim?" he asks, voicing the thought none of them want to. "We're at war with his people. Why risk himself for an elf?"
For the first time all night Hrolf almost smiles. "Because he owes me a blood debt."
The answer doesn’t ease anyone. Garrett opens his mouth like he wants to ask more, then thinks better of it. Hrolf takes another swallow and says nothing else.
"I'll take first watch," Aelfric volunteers, already moving to position himself with a view of the approaches.
"Let me," I say. "I won't be sleeping anyway."
I stand and step away from the fire, leaving its warmth behind.
Hrolf fixes me with a hard look. "You're no good to her dead on your feet, son. You need rest."
How can I close my eyes when every breath she takes might be her last? Rhianelle could be calling for me right now and I'm not there. She could be scared, alone, wondering where I am.
"I'll rest." The lie comes without effort.
"We move at first light," Garrett mutters, banking the fire down. "Cover as much ground as we can."
I settle at the camp's edge, my back against a twisted tree. The bark feels warm despite the night air, pulsing with slow life. Everything in the fae-wilds has its own heartbeat.
Hrolf's snores rise within minutes, deep and rumbling. The dwarf can sleep anywhere. A useful skill for someone who spent his life in rebellion and war.
Garrett shifts positions a few times before finally settling. His breathing evens out. Even Aelfric on watch starts to sag after an hour. His head nods forward before he jerks it back up. He fights it for a while but eventually his chin drops to his chest.
Exhaustion has claimed them all.
